


The Prince

by Bellsastuff



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Baby Goalie is in over his head, Deep Tissue Massage, Light BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Surprise Touch, goalie love, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6842836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellsastuff/pseuds/Bellsastuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What the fuck.”  Matt breathed out, sitting back heavily onto his hotel bed as he stared at his phone.</p><p>‘This is Henrik.’  The text read.  ‘I would like to meet you.  I will book a room in Pittsburgh at your convenience.  Let me know what time will work for you.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Letangier on Tumblr for her emotional support. And look at her beautiful picture of Matt Murray! http://letangier.tumblr.com/post/144165358230/matt-murray-in-pittsburgh-gold-commissioned-by Follow her ass for more beautiful artwork.

“What the fuck.”  Matt breathed out, sitting back heavily onto his hotel bed as he stared at his phone.

 

‘This is Henrik.’  The text read.  ‘I would like to meet you.  I will book a room in Pittsburgh at your convenience.  Let me know what time will work for you.’

 

“The fuuuck.”  Matt hissed out again as he let himself thump back, the hotel comforter slightly cold against his bare and still shower damp shoulder blades.  He needed to get his stuff from his apartment in Wilkes-Barre, he reminded himself for the millionth time.  That reminder would probably be as fruitful as all of the other times that he’d thought of something from home that he needed.  And even more so tonight due to the impressive amount of shots that had been thrusted his way that night, mostly by Zatkoff and Dales.  

 

His head was still spinning when Derrick finally got out of the shower.  Matt listened to the sound of his feet pad against the carpet of their room and open the refrigerator door, thinking for a moment that he should probably ask him for some water.  He could grab that himself though, no matter how wiped he was from the game or how reluctant the world seemed to want to not spin around him.  Yes, Matt was definitely going to eat something.  Eventually.

 

“You know, maybe you should get under the covers, dude.”  Derrick said, mouth clearly half full with food.  And when Matt finally looked up over at him, sure enough, he had Matt’s burrito bowl container in hand.

 

“Fucker.”  Matt hissed out before letting his head thump back onto the bed.  “Stealing my food now?”

 

“Hey, who let you split their room with them when the Pens suddenly needed a goalie?  Besides, I’ll buy you more tomorrow, don’t worry about it.  Want a water?”

 

“Please.”  He muttered, turning with some effort onto his side as he pressed his face into the spot of the comforter that had been made wet by his hair.  His quads stung a bit as he pulled his legs to his chest but the stretch felt good.  

 

Cool plastic was pressed to his forehead by the time that Matt realized that his eyes were closed.  When he opened them, there was Derrick grinning at him.  “C’mon, drink some water.  You’ve got a series against the Caps coming up, I can’t let you die from a hangover.”

 

“Thanks.”  Matt grumbled as he went to grab the water, only to be surprised by the fact that he could not hold his phone and a water bottle at the same time.  He grudgingly sat up, folding his legs under him as he turned his phone back on and opened the text, handing it over silently as he took the water.

 

Derrick sat down on the bed next to him heavily as Matt tossed the now empty bottle onto the floor. In a testament to Derrick’s shock, he didn’t say a word about it.  “So, uh.”  Matt finally said after a long period of time.  “That’s weird, right?”

 

“Um, yeah.  What does Lundqvist want from you?  You just outplayed him.  Is this some weird goalie thing?”

 

Matt let his breath heave out of him as he gave in and leaned against Derrick, the drops from his long black hair dripping onto Matt’s nose.  “I dunno.”  He breathed out against his neck.  “It’s all a lot right now.”

 

“Yeah man, I know.  You did really fucking good though, you know?”  His arm, muscled and thick, felt nice as he wrapped it around Matt’s waist and guided him back down onto the bed.  Matt curled around his defenseman eagerly, his skin warm and still a little damp from the shower.   “Watching you from the pressbox?  Holy shit, dude.  I don’t get how you can stay that chill down there.  Flower and Duper were so damned happy for you.  Me too.”

 

“I knew I could do it.”  Matt muttered.  “Just didn’t think I’d get to do it so soon.”

 

He let Derrick pull the covers out from under them and then over, the warmth a nice shock against his cold toes.  Lundqvist texted him.  Him.  Matt.  The kid from Thunder Bay who hadn’t done shit in the NHL except to beat a Vezina winner in a playoff series.  None of it seemed real, not a bit of it and especially not the fact that Henrik Lundqvist had texted him.

 

Derrick nudged his forehead and Matt realized with a start that he’d been trying to talk to him.  “Muzz, you should call Tishy.  Tell him about the text, see what he thinks.  Maybe not tonight but he’ll know what to do.”

 

“Yeah.”  He finally said, fighting a yawn unsuccessfully as he rested his phone on Derrick’s chest and closed one eye to see the screen easier as he scrolled through his phone, ignoring Derrick’s “Hey, it’s kinda late, dude.”

 

“What’s up, superstar?”  Jeff Zatkoff answered boisterously.  “Drunk dialing me, huh?  I know you’re the next Carey Price but I’m a married man now.”

 

Matt grinned against Derrick’s chest, unable to not smile when Jeff got like this.  “Hey.  So.  Uh.  This is weird.  Uh.”

 

“Henrik Lundqvist texted Matt.”  Derrick said loudly, shrugging unrepentantly when Matt glared at him.  

 

“He did what?!”  Jeff’s voice swiftly went serious, an impressive feat given the amount that he’d drank.  “What did he say?”

 

“Just that he’d like to meet me.”  Matt grumbled, scowling when Derrick added, “And that he’d get a hotel room in Pittsburgh.”

 

“A room?  Really?  God damnit, he should know better.  Matt, don’t respond, let me talk to Flower about this, okay?”

 

Matt breathed out hard, pinching at the small amount of fat on Derrick’s hip.  He ignored the tug of his wet hair before answering, “Yeah, okay Tishy.  Whatever sounds good.”

 

“Get some sleep, bud.”  Jeff said softly.  “You did real good.  Don’t worry about this.”

 

“Kay.”  Matt muttered, not bothering to hide a yawn.  “Night bud.”

 

“Night.”

 

Derrick plucked his phone from Matt and set it on the table, the room quiet except for the ever present hum of the air conditioner.  “Want me to sleep with you tonight?”

 

“Yeah.”  Matt muttered, extricating himself just enough to get in and more thoroughly under the covers with enough room for the much broader defenseman before he wrapped himself around Derrick like his body was an anchor against the spins.

 

* * *

 

Matt felt the mattress dip as Derrick got up, Matt having extricated himself from him during the night in in favor of trying to spread his long limbs out on the small queen sized bed.  With a groan, he checked his phone and tried to talk himself into the physical benefits that would surely come from sleeping in.  But by that point, Derrick was holding out a large bottle of Gatorade out and Matt knew that, for better or worse, he was up.

 

“I’m going to kill Dales.  And Tishy.  Maybe the whole team.”  He muttered before drinking as much as he could of the Gatorade as he could to try and quiet the need to vomit.  But that need happened to be too mucht, so he staggered to the bathroom and puked out blue tinted bile.  But he felt better after, so that was good.  Maybe.  Hopefully.

 

By the time that he’d brush his teeth and taken aspirin for his pounding headache, a note was scrawled out on a post it on the fridge.  ‘Figured you need McDonalds for the hangover.  Me too.  BBL.  - Ricky.  P.S.  Your phone is making sounds, check it.’  And charmingly enough, a small stick figure was vomitting next to the words, leaving Matt to appreciate Derrick’s artistry for a minute.

 

He padded over to his phone, taking a moment to appreciate the thick curtains that kept the room blessedly dark.  Very dark.  So dark, in fact, that he could probably try going back to sleep and trying to outsleep his hangover.  As he crawled back into bed, he fuzzily remembered the note as he scrabbled for his phone.

 

‘Hey.  Call me when you’re alone.’  read the text from Fleury.

 

He missed his own pillow.  The thick one he brought to Wilkes-Barre from Thunder Bay, the one that always seemed to smell like home even after washes and not the thin hotel room pillow that smelled like chemicals.  But he rubbed his face into the pillow as he tried to will himself awake and it somehow worked as he made himself hit the call button.

 

“Hey Muzz.”  Flower answered, his voice ragged.  “How hungover are you, eh?”

 

“I already puked.  Thinking about doing it again.  Ricky’s getting McDonalds, so maybe that will help, I don’t know.”  He hesitated, staring at the light that filtered through the dark curtains as he tried to pick his words carefully.  “Rough morning?”

 

Flower laughed, but it had a bitter taste to it.  “You could say that. Turns out that a second concussion is a bitch. Not fun to feel like the world’s spinning around you, but you get that feeling now, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, I do.”  

 

Silence stretched out for what was probably a only a moment, but felt like longer.  There were many things Matt wanted to say but couldn’t bring himself to.  How could he?  You couldn’t just tell a guy that you were sorry for taking their starter job from them.  You couldn’t apologize for being successful.  You couldn’t apologize for being grateful and excited that you were actually getting your shot.  And you especially couldn’t apologize for the calls to make way for the future.

 

“Flower, listen, I just wanted to say -”

 

“No. Don’t.  You’re taking care of my family out there.  None of this is on you, yeah?  Whatever happens, I don’t care as long as you do your job.  That-”  He could hear Flower take in a long breath, the awkwardness of it all making Matt curl up into the fetal position.  “That’s not what this is about.  I talked to Henrik.”

 

“What does he want?”  

 

“Well. He means well, I think, but - crisse, this is so fucking awkward.  Listen, you ever had someone… make you their back up goalie?”

 

Matt thought of Jack immediately.  Jack Campbell, the veteran goalie of the OHL brought in to replace the Greyhound’s floundering young goalie.  He thought of his hands and how he could say just the right thing to make Matt center himself and get his head right.  “Yeah.”  Matt answered softly.  “Yeah, I have.  But wait, hold up, Lundqvist isn’t my starter.”

 

He had scrambled upright with that realization, twisting the sheets in his long fingers.  “You’re the starter, Flower.  Not him.  I’m not even on his team.”

 

Flower let out a sound that could either be a huff or a groan, Matt couldn’t tell.  “I appreciate it, yeah?  But I’ve never been able to be a real starter to you.  And Jeff, he’s been your backup since last year, it’s just how he is.”

 

“Jeff was a great starter.”  Mat said, maybe being a little over protective but he didn’t give much of a shit.  Jeff was everything that he’d needed last year.   He’d always been there to break the ice with a chirp and never showed an ounce of shittiness, even when Matt was setting the shutout streak that should have made any other goalie nervous for their job.  And when it all got to be too much, Jeff had been the one who had pulled him aside and make him forget about the world for a while.

 

“For an AHL goalie, yes.”  Flower said, sounding more serious that Matt was used to.  “But you aren’t in the A anymore.  You’re starting games in the playoffs for a cup contending team who needs you and you’re doing good, eh?  But that’s a lot of pressure for you.  And Jeff isn’t enough, and I can’t do it right now.  So Henrik… offered.”

 

“Fuck that.”  Matt spat out as he buried his free hand in between his knees, feeling his bones against his palms.  “Fuck him.  Fuck all of that.  I worked hard to get where I am.  I earned this.  I outplayed him and now he’s just trying these head games.  I don’t need any of this, I’ll be fine.”

 

“I know you will.”  Flower said quickly.  “You’ll be great.  It’s an offer, you know?  He didn’t mean to ask it to be shitty.  I mean, to me?  Yeah, probably.  But to you?  No.  But listen, the thing is that you don’t have to say yes.  It’s your decision, yeah?  If you don’t want it, you tell him.   If it was anyone but Henrik, I would be worried, you know?  But he’s a pro.  If you say no, he’ll take that.”

 

Matt pulled his phone from his face, wrinkling his nose at his phone as though it smelled bad.  What could he say?  It took a while before he finally asked, “What do you think I should do?”

 

It took Flower a while.  Enough for Matt to grab at the bottle of Gatorade next to his bed and take a long drink.  “Well.”  Flower finally said, “I think it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

 

“You know about Vokoun, yeah?  He helped me out a lot to come back from that after.  Sometimes you just got to let someone else have some control, you know?  And eh, well, Barrasso.  He wanted to meet me when I started doing good in Pittsburgh.”

 

Matt wiggled his toes against the sheets, brows furrowed as he considered it all.  “And?”

 

“And it helped.”  Flower answered in an exhale.  “It helped.  I don’t know how, but it took the pressure off.”

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah.  I didn't have a starter then, you know?  Caran was shitting the bed so bad that they had to play me.  And Therrien, psh.  What an ass.  He'd just pick-pick-pick at everything I did.  It was shit and I didn't know what I was doing.  So when Barrasso called, I was so desperate for anything that I said yes, right away.  I'm lucky he wasn't an ass about it.  And Vero understood.  She always understands goalie shit."

 

"That's lucky."  Matt muttered.  

 

"I am.  That's another thing to think about though, you and Ricky serious?"

 

Were they?  Matt frowned as he idly began to play with a loose string on the hem of his sheet.  Derrick was great, yeah.  And things were easy.  "No."  He finally said, "I think we're each just... filling in for someone else.  He knows that Henrik texted me though."

 

"Ah.  I see."  

 

They both went quiet again but Matt's mind was anything but.  He'd been the starter in playoffs in the OHL and the AHL, and he'd done well.  He'd let Wilkes-Barre down last year when their D corps consisted almost entirely of ECHL call ups, but he had still handled the pressure.  Barely.

 

"I don't think I want to do it."

 

"Okay."  Flower said.  "That's your choice.  Text him and let him know."

 

"Do you think I'm making the wrong decision?"

 

"I think that you're the only one who can know what's right for you, yeah? "  Flower said warmly.  "Like I said, it's all up to you."

 

"Okay.  Thanks Flower, it's... shit, it's been really good having you around.  You and Jeff."

 

"Psh, don't get all sappy on me now, Muzz.  C'mon, sleep off your hangover.  Text Henrik a response though, yeah?"

 

Matt grinned into the phone.  "Yeah, will do.  Feel better."

 

"You too!"

 

The bed was warm, the pillows still smelling a little like Derrick's deodorant and it was easy to sink under the covers.  He tapped out a response to Henrik, thanking him for the offer but that he would be fine.

 

He'd almost been back to sleep by the time his phone chimed, showing a text in return.

 

'The offer will remain on the table.  All you need to do is ask'

 

* * *

 

Two soft goals.  He'd let in two of them.  And in the series opener, where his team had out played the Capitals and Wilson had kneed Shears for no good reason and Oshie had got a fucking hat trick.  And the worst part of it all had been how Crosby and Dales had been telling him what a good job he had done as they waited to see if the OT goal had gone in, only to have the video be broadcasted showing that Matt had fucked up.

 

They had believed him.  Believed in him.  And he had believed that he'd had that goal.  But instead, he'd failed them.  And that was a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

He answered the media in a haze, trying but failing to avoid the kind look on Crecchiolo's face as she asked him about that last fucking goal.  And the warrior helmet, covered in a sticker record of all the teams they'd beat, was now in the cubby above his stall and it was all just too heavy.

 

He'd sat down to put on his shoes, legs still shaking as the small 'away' locker room cleared out.  But his hands betrayed him, going to his pocket and pulling out his cell phone and calling Henrik before his brain caught up.  But he'd come this far, so he pressed the phone to his ear, listened to the rings and hoped that no one would pick up.

 

"Hello Matt."

 

His eyes snapped shut as they began to well, anger and frustration seeming to be trapped inside his gut.  How could Lundqvist sound so... kind?  Understanding?  It was like he was expecting this.  He probably was.  

 

"Is the offer still open?"  Matt asked through gritted teeth.

 

"It is."  Henrik said, voice painfully, infuriatingly calm.  "I have a hotel room in Washington, in fact.  I'll text you the address.  Send me a text when you arrive."

 

And before Matt could hiss into the phone about how fucking shitty it was for Henrik to just assume that Matt would fuck up so bad that he should get a room anyway, the call was ended and Matt was left staring at his untied leather shoes.

 

His hands shook as he tied his shoelaces, feeling like a clumsy ass as he checked to make sure everything was in his pockets three different times.  Emotions bubbled in his chest, a rioting mix of anger, disappointment, anxiety and excitement that kept leaping to his mind so much that he found himself shutting it down, just a little.  As he put on his jacket, wishing his hair still wasn’t damp from the shower, he caught sight of his mask.

 

Matt wanted to put it back on.  The world seemed to make more sense behind his cat eye slits, more simple and matter of fact.  Just watch the situation, read it, make his best guess on who will shoot and how, make sure his body is between the puck and the net and then fight like hell to keep possession of it.  And if a puck got by him, then the next one wouldn’t.  Simple as that.

 

Sometimes he never wanted to leave his crease.  And now, he didn’t want to do much else besides put on his damp and stinking gear and go back out to his crease where life made sense.

 

“Matt?”

 

He jumped, whirling around with his heart going a mile a minute till he saw Derrick smirking up at him.  

 

“You know, for a goalie, you aren’t too perceptive sometimes.”

 

“You know, for a defenseman, you sure aren’t scared of pissing off the guy in net who bails your ass out.”

 

Derrick grinned at that, eyes crinkling a little in a way that had Matt thinking that maybe he could just go back to the hotel with his roommate.  Or to the bar with the other guys or something, anything besides what he was going to do.

 

“Hey, so.”  He said, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the carpet.  “I’m uh.  I’m gonna meet up with Lundqvist tonight.”

 

“What?!”  Derrick barked out, leaving Matt to awkwardly smile at the equipment staff on the other side of the room.

 

“Maybe a little bit of discretion, Rick?” Matt muttered.

 

“Well, what do you expect?  Like you said, he’s probably just doing this to play head games.”  Derrick said, much more quiet this time.  “C’mon, it was one soft goal.  You did great.”

 

“Two soft goals.”  He corrected.  “And that’s too many.  I was average tonight, at best.”

 

“Bullshit.  You stopped two Ovechkin breakaways, you did amazing.  I don’t want you to put yourself in some… some demeaning shit because you’re being stupid and too hard on yourself.”  Derrick’s cheeks were red, jaw set as he took a step forward.  “You gave your team a chance to win.  And they couldn’t get it done.  That’s not on you.”

 

“I’m the goalie.”  Matt said, crossing his arms over his chest.  “It is on me.  And none of this is your decision.  It’s mine.  And I’m doing it.  At least he’ll understand what my job means.”

 

Derrick’s eyes narrowed but like a switch, he deflated, his shoulders falling from their tensed position.  “Fine.  Can I ride with you to wherever you’re going, at least?  And you’re going to tell Flower about this, right?  He could help with curfew and all that.  You’re going to come back tonight?”

 

“Don’t ride with me.  But uh, yeah, I’ll talk to Flower.  And I… don’t know if I’m coming back tonight, I kind of haven’t done this before, you know?”  A lump sat in his throat, his anger sliding into guilt just a bit.  “Sorry about snapping.” 

 

“It’s okay.”  Derrick said as he shoved his hands into his pockets, looking at Matt’s tie instead of his face.  “Just.  Be sure you know what you’re doing.”

 

“I’m not.”  Matt pulled his face into an awkward smile.  “But I don’t know what else to do.”

 

* * *

 

Room 512.

 

He’d read the numbers over and over again, the gilt plating on them slightly chipped from age.  They looked nice, matching up well with the dark wood of the door, the sconce lighting in the hallway, the plush burgundy carpet under his feet.   It was a beautiful hotel, nicer than any that Matt had been in before.  It seemed appropriate, somehow.  But even more intimidating.

 

“Just do it.”  He whispered to himself, willing his hand to knock.  He’d been trying for minutes now, awkwardly smiling at the random person who’d walked down the hallway as though he wasn’t being fucking weird as hell.  “Just fucking do it, you chickenshit.”

 

The knock seemed to ring through the hallway, making his nerves sing.  His heart thumped in his chest and he looked down toward the elevators one more time because if he was going to not do this, now was the time to go.

 

The doorknob turned and there he was.  Despite wearing a suit and tie, Matt felt absurdly underdressed in front of him.  “Hello Matt.”  Henrik said with serene smile.  “Come in.”

 

The hotel room was just as nice as he would have expected.  Plush carpet, a beautiful large bed, massive TV and two baroque chairs in the corner.  Everything felt tasteful and beautiful, crowned by the DC skyline in the large windows of the corner suite.  He felt small, for the first time in a long while.

 

And there was Henrik Lundqvist.  Vezina winner, franchise goalie, one of the undisputed elites of the top league in the world.  His black slacks were tailored beautifully to his body, same with the pinstripe button down shirt.  Everything about him screamed attention to detail, right down to the expertly trimmed five o’clock shadow on his jaw and his impossibly white teeth.

 

“Have a seat, Matt.  We need to talk before we do anything.”  Henrik said, motioning to one of the chairs as he sunk into the other one.

 

Matt sat, rethinking his decision to not run again.  He felt like a stork next to a swan, gangly and awkward as when he was eleven and his growth spurt left his joints aching and his eyeline inches above everyone else his age.  But he had come this close.  He clasped his sweating palms together in his lap and gave Henrik a small, nervous smile.  “Thanks for, um.  Seeing me.”

 

“Of course.”  Henrik said, giving him a small smile in return.  “You’ll learn this, when you’re a goalie longer in this league.  We look out for each other.”

 

His lips were chapped and he darted his tongue out to moisten them, resisting the urge to pull his lower lip in to run his teeth over a crack in his lips. “Good.”  He offered.

 

“Do you want a drink?”  Henrik asked, slipping his cufflinks out of shirt cuffs as he dropped him onto the bedside table with two small clinks against the wood.  “The hotel had an excellent 1994 Guenoc Cabernet Sauvignon available.  I had them bring it you when you called.  If you like red wine, that is.”

 

“Yeah.”  Matt murmured.  “Yeah, I like it fine, I guess.”

 

He shoved his hands into his pockets, nerves curling in his gut as he watched the older goaltender roll up his sleeves as he poured two healthy sized glasses from an already opened bottle of wine.  Matt remembered suddenly the accented lilt of his mother’s voice as she sternly told him that wine should be allowed to breathe before it was poured.

 

Fuck, he missed her.  They’d gone to the Netherlands the summer before, his treat, and he’d been able to see where she grew up.  But he hadn’t seen her since he started in the Toronto game.  That was the price of being in the NHL, he supposed.

 

Henrik passed him a well poured glass of wine with a small smile.  “It’s been a long night, yes?”  His hand was firm on Matt’s back as he pushed him towards the pair of chairs in the corner, goosebumps curling onto his arms from the gesture.

 

“Really long.”  Matt said, staring into the dark burgundy of the wine.  He took sip and he knew it was likely a quality wine but all he wanted to do was drain it.

 

“I’m sure.”  Henrik said, settling down into one of the chairs and not touching his wine till Matt sat.  “You mentioned nerves, in some of your post game interviews.”

 

Nerves were getting the better of Matt still something he realized when he looked at his wine and realized that he’d already drunk half of it from quick, nervous sips.  “Um, yeah.  I mean, especially the first one.  Madison Square Gardens… that’s pretty exciting.  I bet you already know that though.  But yeah.  It’s pretty nerve wracking.  Until puck drop, I guess.”

 

Henrik’s smile was subdued as he swirled the wine in his glass, taking a long whiff of it before taking a measured drink.  “There is no place like the Gardens.  And you did well for yourself there.  A shutout, that was impressive.”

 

“Yeah.”  Matt said softly.  “Yeah.  I guess.”

 

Henrik didn’t say anything, the silence prompting Matt to finally look up.  His smile was small but pleased, eyes crinkled slightly in what looked like amusement.  “What.”  Matt said, suddenly shoving down annoyance.

 

“You’ll never be pleased until every game is a shutout.  Am I right?”  Henrik took a long sip of his wine, leaving his lips darkened just a little.

 

“Isn’t that what every goalie thinks?”  Matt muttered, taking yet another drink until he finally just set the wine down on the table next to him to avoid fidgeting with it.

 

“Mm.  Yes, but it is good to see someone be so solemn about it, particularly in someone so young.  You’re quite a change for the Penguins in net.”

 

He let out a deep breath, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his knees and tried to pick his words.  “I’m not sure I want to be that change.”  

 

"You don't want to start?  I doubt that."

 

"I want to start."  Matt muttered.  "Of course I want to start.  I always have.  It's just."  A long shaking sigh left him.  "I never thought about what that would mean.  A guy getting traded, having to uproot his family and leave the guys he's played with for so long, that's... it's worse now that I know him too.  Flower is great.  He's amazing, actually.  And I'm taking his job."

 

When he looked up from his hands, he was surprised by the stillness of Henrik's face.  "That's what being a starting goalie means."  Henrik finally said.  "You've been the one to survive all the up and comers.  You're the one who's fought them and the passing of time off, along with all of the pucks.  And you know that eventually, some fresh faced kid will show up at just the right time to replace you when you slip up.  Flower knows that.  If he doesn't, he's lying to himself."

 

"It's not fair."

 

"What is?  Everyone else on the team is subject to that same kind of thing.  It's a slower decline for the forwards and defenseman but eventually, time will take it's toll.  It's simply worse for goalies.  Not wrong but more obvious."

 

He could hear a siren call out in the streets below and Matt wondered about where they were going.  Somewhere, someone was legitimately in pain and danger and here he was, moping over getting what he'd always thought that he wanted.  And what, despite everything, he still wanted.

 

He should have stopped that third goal.  He'd been caught off guard and had let fatigue make his positioning sloppy.  It had been soft as a baby's butt and if he'd stopped it, OT would have never happened.

 

The room was quiet until all that Matt could hear was his heart in his chest.  When he glanced up, he caught Henrik’s eyes, bright and blue and he couldn’t look away.  “What do you need, Matt.”

 

“I-”  He started, mind racing as he had to look down at his clasped hands.  “I… I want to hear the truth.”

 

“That’s a good start.”  Henrik said smoothly.  “What else.”

 

“Um.  I want to never do that again.  I can’t do that again, actually.  I want to know how to not do that again, though I don’t think you can help me with that.  I… I don’t know how you can help me with that though.”

 

“I can’t.  What else.”

 

His breath caught in his throat as he kept his eyes open until they started to water, finally shutting his eyes.  “Honestly?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I want to forget.  I want to just… hit refresh and go back into my gear and into my net and I want to do it all again, but better.  I just want to stop pucks and not have to-”  His eyes teared up again, but his eyes were already shut and a lump in his throat felt like a stone.  “I just don’t want to keep replaying how I let those pucks get past me.  I want to be back in my crease and for the next game to start now so I can just do it better.”

 

“It’s better in net, isn’t it?”

 

Matt blinked, looking over at the older man.  “Yeah.  Yeah, it’s better.”

 

He looked back at his hands before his vision swam and he had to close his eyes again.  He could feel it all again.  The picture coming up on the big screen.  Knowing that he’d failed his team.

 

“If I may suggest?”

 

Matt rubbed at his eyes and ran the back of his palm under his nose as he tried to sniffle it all away, still unable to look at the other man.  “Go for it.”

 

“I think you want absolution.  To have someone acknowledge your failings, punish you accordingly for them and then, only then, forgive you for them.”

 

“Will it work?”  He choked in a breath.  “I mean, can that even be done?”

 

“It is hard to forget how young you are.”  Henrik said, not unkindly.  But Matt let out a dry laugh anyway.  

 

“Thanks.”  He wiped at his eyes again, getting to his feet with one quick movement.  “This was stupid, I’m sorry for wasting your time, this wasn’t going to work.”  

 

He was halfway to the door when Henrik spoke, his voice firm and steady.  “You love the crease because it’s simple.”

 

Matt slowed, then stopped as he rested his hand on the cool brass doorknob.  But he didn’t turn it.

 

“You have one purpose there.”  He continued, serene and composed and Matt coveted that.  “All you have to do is keep pucks out.  That’s easy enough, right?  You can’t leave your defined area and those rules are comforting to you.  No one can touch you there, so you are safe.  You’ll still take pucks going nearly a hundred miles an hour but the impact of them feels good, because it means that you have done your job well.  But you have to stay standing and moving for three twenty minute periods but at the end, it is suddenly worth it because your team showers you with love and tell you how good you are.  If you win.”

 

Matt wetted his lips again.  “So?”

 

“So, I can recreate that.  The pain, the effort.  The recognition after.  You don’t have to wait for the next game.”

 

“Why should I trust you?”

 

“Because I want to have been beaten by a Cup winner, when it comes down to it in June.  And because you have no one else to do this for you.”

 

Matt let go of the doorknob, curling his fingers into his empty palm.  He probably looked like an idiot, he dimly thought to himself.  He wasn’t really attractive, he knew that.  And when he cried, his face got blotchy and weird, even if it would be hidden some by his beard.  But he looked Henrik, perfect handsome Henrik Lundqvist, right in the eyes.  “How far would this go?”

 

“As far as you want.”  He answered calmly.

 

“How much do you think that I want?”

 

Henrik cocked his head to the side, a slight smirk on his face.  “Brandon Halverson, your old backup with the Greyhounds?  He’s one of our prospects, as you know.  I know about your defenseman in Edmonton.  No judgements, of course.”

 

Matt had taken two, then three steps towards Henrik before he stopped, both of his hands in fists now.  “You won’t tell anyone.”  He gritted out.  “Not a damned soul.  Darnell doesn’t need any of this.  It’s our business.”

 

The older man lifted his hands, speaking as though he was calming a spooked horse.  “I had no intention of that.  Your business is your own.  But you were the one to ask.”

 

He had to take in several deep breaths, the adrenaline rush still in his veins.  And fuck, but he missed Darnell.  Missed him like a limb. “Fine.”  He muttered.

 

Matt sat down heavily on the bed, tired to the bone.  “Fine.”  He said again.  “And you’ll… you’ll stop if I want you to, right?”

 

“Pick a safe word.  If you say it, I’ll stop.”

 

He considered for a moment, the brocade comforter’s details under his fingers easy to trace with his fingertips.  “Vezina.”  He said softly.  “That’s my safe word.  Vezina.”

 

Henrik bit back a laugh and when Matt looked over, he was smiling broadly.  “I like your confidence.  Do you have any hard limits?  Or any soft ones?”

 

Jack had never asked him that much.  Granted, Jack had only been nineteen when Matt was his backup and Jack had suddenly needed to try to stitch a skinny nerd’s confidence back together.  This was new.  And even more daunting.

 

“No shit or piss.”  He muttered, flushing despite himself.  “No lasting marks that I can’t explain to the trainers as coming from a foam roller or whatever.  Nothing that keep me from playing, though that’s probably obvious.  Uh, no blood.”

 

Henrik nodded.  “Any words that don’t work for you?”

 

He flushed again, awkwardly reaching up to scratch at his newly forming playoff beard.  “Nope.”

 

“Alright.  Would you like to begin now, Matt?”

 

He gave a weak smile back.  “No time like the present, right?”

 

“Right.”  Henrik seemed to purr, adjusting in his seat to spread his legs just so.  And damn but Matt couldn’t help but notice the thickness of his thighs, the line of his quadricep muscle stark against his slacks.

 

“Take off your clothes.”

 

“What?”  Matt asked, eyes darting back up to his face. 

 

Henrik lifted his hand and held up one finger.  “You don’t speak unless I tell you to.  This has been your warning.  Now, take off your clothes.  Slowly.”

 

Matt let out a deep breath.  Right.  He shrugged off his dove grey suitcoat, looking to Henrik for any idea of what to do with it.  But he got no clues from Henrik’s stoic face and finally tossed it onto the bed, looking back at Henrik to see the reaction.

 

“Hang up your clothes in the closet.”  He finally said.  “We can’t have you leaving here looking like a mess.”

 

Right, he thought.  Okay.  Matt walked over the the closet and hung his coat onto one of the thick wooden hangers.  But as he started to undo his cuffs, Henrik cleared his throat.  “Undress in front of me, and then take the item of the clothing to the closet.”

 

Matt stared at the older man, a small frown on his face.  Why bother?  He was already at the closet anyway.  But Henrik didn’t respond, so he walked back in front of Henrik’s chair.  He’d started to loosen his tie as he walked but stopped at the shake of his head.  It was strange.  Incredibly so.  Henrik just watched him intently as Matt undid his cuffs, slowing down slightly at a sound.

 

It was strange.  Matt hadn’t never had much of an issue with being half dressed or even naked around other guys.  He’d been in too many locker rooms to care anymore, really.  But this felt somehow different.  Even if he was still in his undershirt, pants and socks, the fact that Henrik was watching so intently made him feel more exposed.  

 

His hands hesitated at his belt, nerves building in his stomach.  “Keep going.”  Henrik said.

 

So he did.  And when he rushed, Henrik tutted at him and he bit down the urge to snap that he was going slow enough.  Instead, he stared at his stockinged toes as he pulled his slacks down so slowly that it felt like a joke.

 

He felt like a jackass as he hung up his socks, then his undershirt and as he walked back, his mouth felt dry.  He had to take in a long breath before tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them down, feeling bare and a little stupid.  

 

“Set those down onto the the chair.”  Henrik said, resting his chin in his hand.  “And get onto the bed.”

 

The gray of his briefs looked nice against the patterned fabric of the chair but Matt wasn’t really thinking of that.  How did the ref call the OT goal good, he wondered.  He was behind the net, how could he see?  He couldn’t have.  That didn’t matter, Matt should have sealed the net easily, he know Oshie was swinging around to try and come in back door, it was an easy enough read.

 

He sat down heavily onto the bed, the comforter’s texture rough against his skin.  And then he stood.  

 

“I told you to get onto the bed.”  Henrik said coolly as he slipped his cufflinks out and onto the small table beside him.

 

Matt stayed standing.  He loved his crease and the rules and his positioning and the thought that went into it, but there was one thing that he loved more than anything.  And that was when he made a rough save and everyone converged on him, sticks and skates everywhere in his field of vision as he grappled to hold and secure his puck, damn whoever else wanted it.  He loved that fight.  And he needed it.

 

“I don’t feel like it.”  He said, letting a small smile curl onto his face.  “What are you going to do about it?”

 

One of Henrik’s perfect eyebrows quirked as he cocked his head to the side, looking at Matt with no small amount of amusement.  “What will I do about that indeed.”

 

He stood in one fluid movement, setting his wine glass down before walking in a measured cadence over.  Matt’s mouth drew dry as he looked down at Lundqvist, suddenly second guessing his decision.  He opened his mouth to try to say something, anything, but was interrupted by a hand grasping his inner thigh and a thumb digging directly into his groin muscle.

 

It felt like taking a puck to the chest without a protector, swift sweet agony that stole his breath from his lungs.  He crumpled back onto the bed, trying to move his leg away but Henrik stayed with him.  His hand felt huge as he grasped Matt’s knee, pushing it up and then still for better access to the muscle.

 

It took him a while, an embarrassingly long time in fact, to realize the Henrik was speaking to him.  “What?”  He finally managed to wheeze out, all the while trying to keep from crying out.

 

“I asked you if you had seen a trainer after the game.”

 

“Uh, no.” Matt stuttered out, hissing again as the thumb redoubled its efforts on his painfully tight muscle.

 

“That was stupid.”  Henrik said, as matter of fact as if he were saying that ice was cold.  “The Ovechkin breakaway, the second one, you overextended your leg.  Your patience was excellent with Ovi but you paid a price for that save.  And with a series to go and the only reliable goalie in the organization out, it was stupid to not have a trainer work on your groin.”

 

His body shrieked with pain, his nerves singing out in cadence with his heart as Henrik’s thumb dug and dug into his misused muscle.  Matt couldn’t seem to stop moving, writhing forward and closer to Henrik then back against the bed but nothing he was able to do could make Henrik lose his grip.  There was the word, he knew that, but he didn’t want to say it.

 

A whimper left him as he started to tremble, all nervous energy that he couldn’t seem to get rid of and when he looked up, Henrik met his eyes.  When the team masseuse worked on Matt, the Swiss man never looked directly at him, only down at his body as he worked in silence and ignored any sounds that Matt might make.  But this was different, leaving him laid bare as pain ricocheted through him and completely exposed to someone who might even enjoy the view.  He was getting hard, he realized with a start and he only writhed more.

 

“Did a trainer ask about it after the game?”  Henrik asked as coolly as if they were having a cup of coffee.  

 

Matt wanted to sink into the pain but Henrik dug his thumb in again in punishment.  “Yes.”   He said through clenched words.  “Y-yes.”

 

“What did you tell them?”

 

“That I’d see them tomorrow about it.”  

 

“And why would you do that when your groin muscle was this tight?”

 

Matt’s throat felt thick and heavy with embarrassment as he stared at the ceiling, unable to look down at him.  “Because I wanted to get out.”  He finally labored to say.  “I talked to the media and I wanted to go.”

 

Henrik’s knuckle twisted cruelly into his muscle, making him cry out.  But Henrik waited, patiently, until Matt had stopped writhing to say, “You aren’t in the NHL anymore.  You have all the tools you need to keep yourself healthy and if you don’t use them, then you are wasting your potential and risking your health needlessly.”

 

Matt nodded, feeling the beads of sweat on his forehead hit the cool air of the air conditioner as he did so.  By the time that Henrik moved his hands away, leaving his inner thigh feeling hot and swollen, Matt’s breath was ragged and gasping.  Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, making the ceiling blur and swim in his vision.

 

He tried to blink the tears away, finally closing them until he felt a weight on the bed.  He looked up to see Lundqvist looming over him, propped up on one elbow as his free hand stroked the Line of Matt’s beard and the new playoff beard growing there.  His voice was as gentle as Matt had heard it as he said, “Good.  Now you're  going to get off the bed and do your stretches while I get things ready.”

 

Matt moved like he was in a fog as he got off the bed and found a spot on the carpet that was big enough for him to work.  Sometimes he thought that he could do this routine in his sleep, manipulating and pulling at his body until his joints were free and mobile.  His body moved in a rhythm, breath easy and calm as he first moved on his abductors, then groin, then started on his hips.  

 

When he was nine, Matt had decided that he would rather be Roy than Lidstrom and started to stretch in earnest.  His mother had walked in on him one too many times while he tried to do the splits before sending him off to goalie camp, finally.  He learned his routine then and with a few tweaks, he kept working and pushing his body until dropping into the splits was as easy as breathing. It was one of the only constants in his life.

 

The best part was being able to sink into a fog.  The world fell away no matter how hectic everything buzzed around him and left him in the stretch of muscle and the need to be open.  He was just Matt, stretching and moving and breathing.

 

The hand on his hair was a shock but light enough that when he instinctively shied away, none of his hair was mussed.  It settled back into his hair was he looked up to Henrik’s face, a small smile on his face.  “Better?”

 

“Yeah.”  He said softly.  After a few blinks, he saw that a pair of large towels had been laid onto the bed, a bottle of something liquid on the bedside table.  He blinked again, looking back up to Henrik.  “How long were you waiting?”

 

“Long enough to know that you should stretch after every game.”  He said smoothly as he carded his fingers through Matt’s still shower damp hair.  “Your face, I know it.  You fall into the stretches.  That’s good for you.  Wait until you’re done with the media though, they’ll think you’re high.”

 

He grinned a little at that, leaning into the touch like his billet family’s cat.  “They already say I talk like a veteran in interviews.”

 

“You do.”  Henrik said simply, pulling his hand away slowly.  “Up onto the bed.  On your back.”

 

A yawn nudged at the back of Matt’s mind and he tried to stifle it, only to have his body betray him.  But Henrik only snorted and he stood from his kneeling position to set himself onto the bed.  The shimmy he had to do to avoid the towels was a bit awkward but he was soon distracted by the sight of Henrik unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off.  

 

There was something distinctly unfair about this, Matt thought.  Someone shouldn’t be able to look that good and play that well.  But Lundqvist was perfect.  The muscles that rippled over his shoulder blades as he took off his undershirt were perfectly symmetric, a testament to years of work and nutrition and blood, sweat and tears made physical and just like that, Matt was hard again.  When he took his slacks off, Matt felt anger rise up in himself a little because he was sure that he’d work his ass off in the gym for years but his still couldn’t manage to fill out his long frame with as much muscle as Lundqvist had.  His thighs almost looked like Sidney’s, so thick that Matt wondered if his knee pads cut into his skin and left red marks.

 

And fuck but when Lundqvist turned around, his smirk belied the fact that he’d been putting on a show and nothing about this seemed fair.  “I said to lay back.”  His voice was commanding and Matt let out a soft sigh as he laid back.

 

He hadn't thought about the Oshie goal in a while, he realized.  In the back of his mind, he considered adding in more olympic lifts into his offseason conditioning regimen to help with explosive power.  More power in his slides would have to help in a situation like that.

 

"Focus."  Matt startled at the words, enough to not notice the slick hand on his hip until it began to work on his hip flexors.  The stretches had helped to get blood moving in his hips but Henrik's fingers still hurt.  Matt usually ended up needing to lay on a lacrosse ball to try to work on his hips and that hurt enough.  But he could move away when the pain got to be too much and with Henrik leaning over to throw an arm over Matt's chest and put his weight behind it, Matt had no other option than lay there and let the older man work.

 

"Always work from the top of the joint and then move downwards."  Henrik's voice was even, a little flash of amusement crossing over his features as Matt looked up at him.  "Everything connects to the hip and if that's not in good shape, then some other muscle has to compensate for the stiffness. "  

 

Matt knew that, actually.  Bales had drilled it into his head when saw Matt working on whatever was sore instead of on the leg as a whole.  But Matt didn't bother to tell Lundqvist, finding himself too busy biting back a groan as his hip seemed to burn under Henrik's hands.

 

The world didn't fall away, not like it did when he stretched.  It sharpened instead, molding into a sharp point where Henrik's hands worked his muscles in assured movements.  All he seemed to consist of was the quiver in his quadricep after Henrik ran a thumb along the line of muscle, leaving a bloom of heat in it's wake.  He was making sounds, likely stupid ones, but every time he looked up to Henrik, he looked pleased.  So Matt let himself express the pain and relief and anxiety that had built up over the year, all in the form of whimpers, groans and the fine tremble under his skin.

 

Henrik moved upwards, straddling Matt’s chest as he grasped an arm and pulled it to his side.  The smell of almonds filled Matt’s nose as Henrik worked on his lat muscles near his armpit, slowly moved to his pectorals with easy, assured movements.  But Matt barely noticed, eyes glued to the bulge in Henrik’s briefs.  He could see the outline of his cock and fuck, he could see a few damp spots on the navy fabric from precum.  

 

Matt tried to get up, tried to get closer and crane his neck closer to mouth the line of his cock and smell what a legend in goal was like.  Would he taste different, Matt thought abruptly.  Would he taste different from Darnell or Ricky or the boys that Matt met in clubs in Toronto?  Probably not, but his head swam with the idea of pressing his face into Henrik’s crotch and mouthing at his cock through the fabric for just a hint at the taste.

 

Henrik’s hand was heavy as it rested against Matt’s throat, pushing his head back down onto the bed.  Matt could feel the callouses on his hand against his adam’s apple and he throbbed with want.  And just as he started to get dizzy, Henrik switched to his other arm and left Matt to shimmy his hips in an attempt to get some, and friction.

 

“Please.”  He gasped, running his tongue across his lips.  His voice sounded foreign to himself, broken and raw and he tried to put all of the want and need into his voice.  “Please, let me blow you, please Henrik.”

 

But Henrik only smiled beatifically at him as he continued the massage, not saying a word.  Matt started to babble, begging in earnest and when Henrik lifted up and off of Matt, he scrambled up in hope.  But Henrik only smiled as he poured more oil into his hands.  “Roll over.  I still need to get your back.”

 

His heartbeat raced in his chest as Matt slowly lifted himself up and over, only to bury his groan into the bed as he was finally able to grind his cock against the towel under him.  Henrik’s hand slapped against Matt’s ass, his voice low and he ordered, “Not yet.”

 

The effort to not move made him shake and bury his face in deeper to the towel.  And he only grew more tense as Henrik straddled his back again and he could feel the damp heat of Henrik’s bare cock against the small of his back.  He hadn’t seen him take off his briefs but Matt could feel the brush of his strong thighs against his chest and the heat of him so fucking close.

 

Breathing slower and calming himself down was hard, but Matt hadn’t trained for twelve years to be in control of himself for nothing.  What helped more was the fact that Matt had started to become accustomed to the pain and the fact that he couldn’t look up to see Henrik’s proud face giving him that small smile.  Instead, he could keep his eyes firmly shut and pressed against the white towel and sink into the contact.

 

He’d almost had control in his grasp.  Almost.  He was still hard but had slipped into more of an ache than a need but then Henrik moved back and tapped Matt’s backside.  “Hips up, get onto your knees.  Face down.”

 

Knees shaking, Matt obeyed with his breath catching in his throat.  He turned his head to the side, watching the DC skyline as he heard Henrik move to the bedside table again and flip the cap of a bottle.  He’d been wanting it but was still surprised when Henrik ran a hand up Matt’s thigh and grasped a cheek.  After what seemed like hour, Matt could feel a brush of Henrik’s thumb against his hole and he had to shut his eyes, everything just too much.

 

“Do you want this?”

 

“Please.”  Matt said with a shudder.  “Please, please.”

 

The towel felt strange against Matt’s teeth but he bit down on his anyway as Henrik slid a slick finger around the rim.  The bastard was teasing him and he wanted to open his mouth and say something, anything, but then Henrik’s finger finally pushed in and all Matt could do was bear down and tried to breathe.

 

It had been close to a year.  Derrick liked receiving more than Matt generally did but even then, it was a rare thing.  Their mouths and hands were easier when they were wiped from practice or sloppy drunk after a game and the chance of being sore the next day was usually too much of a fuss to really see the need to bother.  And last year in Toronto, well, Matt and Darnell hadn’t spoken much.

 

He was tight but Henrik was slow and his hands were sloppily slick.  When Henrik finally curled his finger down, a ripple of heat and need settled into his bones and the tight burn from before didn’t matter a bit.  “More.”  He groaned as his body eased.  “More, more, please, fuck.  More.”

 

“So greedy.”  Henrik said, his chuckle sounding slightly choked as he withdrew his finger only to nudge at his hole with two fingertips.  “It’s beautiful.  You want so much so badly, I love it.”

 

Matt arched his back as Henrik’s fingers finally slipped inside, fingers gripping the towel with all the strength he could muster.  “Your first game in the Gardens was so good.  Your positioning, and in someone so young?  Fuck, I just wanted to watch you all damned night.”

 

Henrik’s fingers dipped down again for a moment as he hit that spot that made Matt feel like he had molten steel in his veins.  He moved back to scissor his fingers, easing Matt open as he continued to speak.  “You will be so fucking special.  Your positioning is only going to get better but your reading of the play, god damn.  It’s like you know just what everyone will do before they know it and when they do decide to shoot, there you are.  And you’re only twenty one, for fucks sake.”

 

Matt keened into the towel, shoving his ass up into the air.  “More, please.  Fuck, more.”

 

Henrik’s voice was painfully calm as he finally inserted the tip of his third finger.  Matt let out a shaking breath as he tried to push back against the fingers, but Henrik pulled back as Matt moved.  “So greedy.”  He laughed.  “But you need to wait, there are things you need to know.”

 

“Please, just-”

 

“No.”  Henrik said, voice firm.  “You need to know.  Your biggest strength?  It’s your self confidence.

 

Matt let out a sobbing shiver of a breath as Henrik finally eased the third finger in.  “You don’t play like a rookie.  In that crease, you know what you are.  Keep that.  But off the ice?  You need to give this anger back at yourself up.  Keep some of it.  But the rest of that pain will eat at you until you fall apart.  You have to learn to give it up to someone or something else.  Do you understand?”

 

Tears swam in his vision as Matt pulled his elbows up to brace himself, forcing his face into his elbows as he tried to slow his breathing.  “T-take your fingers out?”

 

Henrik’s fingers stopped.  “You’re sure?  Will you say the word?”

 

“Vezina.  Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

Henrk slipped his fingers out and Matt had to bite at his arm to keep from protesting.  But he turned over as quickly as he could, before he could change his mind.  His ass felt slick against the towel, the open feeling in his hole sending shivers up his spine.  He could touch himself now, he knew.  Just slide his hand over his cock, jack himself off and say what he needed to and end the night and Henrik would understand.  

 

But as he looked at Henrik’s broad shoulders, his immaculately well groomed cheat and, fuck, the dark blush of his cock as it seeped precum and twitched  up ever so slightly.  Matt wasn’t ready for this to end.  Not in the slightest.

 

He tore his eyes up, locking onto Lundqvist’s face.  “Can I beat Holtby?”

 

“Honestly?”

 

Matt nodded.

 

“Your team is better.  The forward lines are balanced.  The defenseman are mobile, despite the bottom pairing not being excellent.  But they’re good on the penalty kill, which helps.  And the defensemen kept your crease clear.”  Henrik smiled, a tight movement.  “They aren’t the same Penguins team I’ve seen in years before.”

 

“You said a lot about my team.  But not about me.”

 

Henrik’s lip quirked as he tried to contain a smile but failed.  “There’s a reason for that.  You’ll match Holtby.  You’ll do what you did in our series and you’ll give your team a chance, even when they inevitably let you down.  Which they will.  But you’ll make up the difference as much as Braden will.  You’ll match him.  And your team will rally around you to beat him.”

 

"So, is that a yes?"

 

He smiled again, even laughing quietly before nodding.  "Yes, Matt.  I believe that you can beat the future Vezina winner this year.  I'm not sure why, but I think you can."

 

Unable to hold back a grin, Matt looked down at the bed, only to find himself staring once again at Henrik's cock and wondering how he got so lucky.  "Matt?  Do you need a hand with anything?"

 

"I was actually kinda thinking-"  Matt stopped and looked up to look Henrik in the idea.  "I was thinking it would be great if you could.  Um.  Fuck me.  If you want."

 

When Henrik let out a choked laugh, Matt felt heat rise into his face with embarrassment.  But Henrik moved to a small carry on suitcase and after rifling through it for a moment, he could hear the dstinctive crinkle of a condom wrapper.  "I want that very much."  Henrik said as he turned, the grin on his face wide.  "Turn back over, hips up."

 

Relief flooded into Matt and he gave Henrik's cock one more appreciative look before turning and settle back onto the towels with his ass up.  He was so hard, to the point where he didn't dare touch himself or risk embarrassing himself further.  Henrik's fingers did not help matters any as they traced Matt's rim again before sliding back in, slick and somehow perfect.  

 

"Look at you, still so lose and open for me."  Henrik purred appreciatively and when Matt felt the scratch of the older man's beard against his ass, he tried to brace himself.  But he wasn't prepared anywhere near enough when Henrik's tongue joined his fingers.

 

Suddenly, all Matt could think of was Darnell.  Specifically, the night after their first round series of Matt's final year with the Greyhounds when Darnell got it into his head that he needed to thank Matt properly.  They'd fallen into bed after a night at the bar, flushed and proud and giddy with the Memorial Cup on their mind and Darnell had eaten him out till Matt had been begging to be fucked.

 

They didn't sleep together again until they were swept in the second round, defied by Matt's burning need to have more time with Darnell.  Instead, they left early to their respective rookie camps with the weight of expectations of what a professional hockey player could and could not be.

 

Matt would have been willing to buck those expectations, if they weren't a country apart.  But Darnell couldn't.  So Matt compartmentalized what they had been and  set it aside and with a deep breath, he did that again and embraced the present tense.

 

Lundqvist made that easy.  The scratch of his beard against sensitive skin made Matt whine, his fingers feeling massive as they nudged his prostate.  "Look at you."  Herink murmed after finally slipping his fingers out.

 

Matt turned his to look back and had to bite down hard at the look on Henrik's fce as he traced Matt's rim with a finger.  "So eager for me.  Beautiful."

 

The towel was rough against his face as Matt buried his flushed face against it and he had to grip the sheets to keep from reaching back and touching himself.  He would be slick with precum and the yearning to fuck his own fist was agonizing but somehow delicious.

 

He almost had to bite back a sob as he heard Henrik open the condom wrapper.  He listened for the cap of lube to be opened like his life dependent on it, wanting for the world to hurry up more badly than anything at that moment.  

 

Henrik's hands were sure and still a little slick as he pushed Matt's knees to the side.  His breathing was shallow and quick as he felt the nudge of Lundqvist's cock against his hole, suddenly seeming much too large to possibly be able to fit.

 

"Breathe."  Henrik said in a firm tone and Matt made himself slow his breath, not paying much attention to how his chest hitched.  Henrik splayed a hand along Matt's back, the weight and heat of it calming.  "If I go too quickly, let me know."

 

With that, Lundqvist began to ease forward and Matt felt his face contort into a grimace of pain as his body struggled to adjust.  Henrik stopped, the head of his cock barely inside Matt but he somehow managed to wait.  "Look at you."  He murmured.  "So tall and thin but look at your shoulders, look at how strong they are.  All that power.  You're doing good, Matt.  And fuck, so tight."

 

"Keep going."  Matt managed to choke out as the initial pain eased into simple discomfort.  Henrik obliged, taking his time as made tiny little thrusts in deeper and deeper until Matt could feel the heat of Henrik's balls against his.

  
  


Henrik felt like he was everywhere in Matt, like he'd someone managed to reach his core and settle there.  His own body ddin't seem like his anymore, taken and owned by a master far better than him and Matt sunk into that with gratitude.  

 

"So tight."  Henrik said as he began to slowly thust his hips.  "So damn good.  Does Fleury know how good you are like this?  Has he given you what you're due for being such a good boy?  Maybe Zatkoff has in his stead."

 

Someone was groaning, sounding rough and broken and Matt realized with a start that it was him.  The sound turned into a whine as Henrik grasped hard at Matt's hip and asked, "Maybe Crosby has?"

 

The laugh that Henrik made at the noise was breathy and he slammed his cock into Matt to make him whine again.  "I see you like that idea.  Did he suck you off?  Those big lips, they seem perfect for it.  And you are so due for that kind of appreciation."

 

Matt buried his face in the bed to try and stifle the cries he was making.  The image of Sidney fucking Crosby, Captain Canada and the golden goal scorer, on his knees for Matt was almost too much and his cock, which had flagged from the earlier pain, was hard again.

 

"I am so jealous of Fleury."  Henrik muttered, picking up speed as his cock hit Matt's prostate and made him yelp.  "To have you as a back up?  To be able to see you like this as often as I wanted?  Do you know what I'd have you do?"

 

Matt's head was spinning, every fiber of his body feeling like it was on fire as he ached to touch himself.  He didn't think to speak but when Lundqvist landed a smack on his ass, he choked out, "What?"

 

Henrik leaned over, thrusts becoming harder as he grasped Matt and pulled his back to Henrik's chest.  "I'd make you put my gear on me."  He growled.

 

"From my cup to my pads, I'd make you kneel in front of everything in the locker room and make you strap me in.  And then, after the game, I'd let you take them all off, one piece at a time.  Do you know what I'd do then?"

 

He couldn't hold back the sob at the idea of it, everyone watching as he prepared one of the best goalies in the world for the game, able to make sure that the protector and pads were in just the right spot.  "What?"  He finally said as he let his head fall back.

 

"I'd fuck you right there.  Show my team how damned good you are and how I treat such a good boy."  He snarled.

 

"Fuck, fuck."  Matt whined, "Touch me, touch me, please.  I can't- I can't take this."

 

A flare of pain on his shoulder didn't help anything as Henrik bit down.  He could feel the scratch of his beard and the heat of his breath as Henrik snaked a hand down to rest it on Matt's hipbone, so close but still so damned far.  "Not yet  You’ve already waited this long, you can wait a little bit longer."  He said, laughing at Matt's whimpered protest.

 

“I’d make my team thank you.”  He continued.  “When you bail them out after a game, I’d make them kneel down and show you how grateful they are.  Kreider can suck cock like you wouldn’t believe.  But ah, I still have to tell you the part I'd like best.  I could watch you easier then as you kept my team in it, even when they made stupid mistakes.  And I could watch you keep getting better and better until everyone knew how good you are.”

 

Matt was almost crying now, everything getting too intense, too much, but he never wanted it to end.  

 

“Everyone would be jealous and want you on their team.  But you’d be mine.”  Henrik accentuated that point with a sharp thrust.  “I’d be so proud of you when you win the award.  You know which one I mean, right?”

 

“Yeah.”  Matt whimpered, over focused on how close Henrik’s hand was to his cock.

 

When that hand moved up, he felt like he was going to die as he started to plead with Henrik to just touch him.  But he didn’t listen, instead burying his fingers in Matt’s hair, pulling his head back in one swift tug.  With his beard scratching against Matt’s ear, he asked, “What award is going to belong to you, Matt?”

 

“The Vezina.”  Matt sobbed.  “The fucking Vezina.”

 

“Good boy.”  Henrik purred as he let go of Matt’s hair and finally slid down to take Matt’s dick in hand.  “So good.  Cum for me, fuck my hand.”

 

Matt thrust forward into Henrik’s hand, having to bite down a wail as he fucked Henrik’s hand and in turn, fucked himself back onto the older man’s cock.  Within moments, he came harder than he could ever remember doing so.  Stars filled his vision as he heaved in breaths, going limp and pliable as Henrik pushed him onto the bed and pulled out.  

 

The snapping sound of the condom coming off made him look back.  Henrik looked incredible, flushed with strong as he jacked himself off.  Matt shivered as he felt, rather than saw, the hot spray of Henrik’s cum against his back, marking him.  

 

He sunk into the bed, unable to move an inch despite the wet spots under him.  He listened to Henrik move through the room, only able to turn his head to admire the swell of his ass as Henrik moved into the bathroom.  Unable to keep his eyes open, he curled into himself and waited for his heartbeat to finally slow.

 

When a warm washcloth began to clean off his back, Matt groaned quietly as he was tugged out of sleep.  “Hush.”  Henrik muttered, tapping his hip.  “Up, let’s get the wet towels off.”

 

His eyelids seemed to be heavy as lead, the satisfied warm hum to muscles making him want nothing more than to stay where he was.  But Henrik shooed him up as he blearily watched Henik snag the towels and finally, hold the covers open for him to slide in.

 

When Henrik joined him in bed, Matt gravitated towards him.  He curled around the older man, suddenly needy and desperate for touch.  “Thank you.”  He murmured.

 

“Of course.”  Henrik murmured, tugging him closer.  “Feeling better?”

 

“Yeah.”  He said, voice thick with the need for sleep.  But the thought struck him and he looked up to Henrik, studying his face for a moment.  “Why did you offer this?  It can’t just because you want me to win the Cup.”

 

He got a laugh in return, feeling a warm rush as Henrik leaned down to give him an easy kiss.  “You’re right.  You interested me.  I wanted to know you better.”

 

“You weren’t too disappointed, right?”

 

“Not in the slightest.” Henrik muttered, leaning in for another slow kiss.  “Go to sleep.  You have a series to win.”  

 

The next game would be different, Matt decided.  They would be different until June.  As he slid into sleep, he had a fleeting thought for a moment that he could almost feel the glove and blocker in his hands and safely home in his crease.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, Darnell Nurse was the captain of the SSM Greyhounds when Matt was their goalie, and they were apparently pretty good buds. Also, feel free to come see me at @purekesseltrash on tumblr


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